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Spock has been noticing lately how some humans seem to be in a constant state of energy. They are visibly restless, sometimes perhaps too much so- they bring to mind a bundle of electrical wires with their ends roughly cut off and fraying, throwing sparks and humming with undirected purpose. He condemns the waste of resources inherent in their finger-tapping and fidgety uneasiness.
Of course, this small degree of restlessness is not unusual, and Spock has observed it in a majority of humans. There is restless, and then there is Jim Kirk.
Jim is, and has always been, in a state of motion- or at the very least in a jittery pseudo-stillness that suggests the potential for immediate action. He has never been at rest; some force that ignores other worlds and their inhabitants focuses on him alone, propelling him through daily life at dangerous velocities, with inertia disproportionate to his physical mass.
And then there is the coffee, which Kirk drinks constantly and on a schedule so exact that Spock would be proud- if he could be, of course, he reminds himself. Spock once suggested to the captain that such a dependence on stimulants was unwise, and could result in irresponsible tendencies and recklessness. At a level higher than usual, that was. Jim had smiled cheerfully and told him to go fuck off because not everyone rose at an ungodly hour like their fucking body ran on clockwork and algorithms, and that had been that. A most average and unremarkable interaction.
As Jim slouches in his chair, leg jittering perhaps without his notice or consent, Spock makes an effort to sit perfectly still. He has always preferred balance, and this kind of equilibrium suits him.
-
The equilibrium is abruptly disturbed one particular day, and Spock finds himself reeling in space, frantically trying to calculate and to adjust-
“I’m scared, Spock.”
Jim’s fingers shift almost imperceptibly on the glass, and then his hand falls, soundless, to his side.
Spock is in freefall.
-
Jim has been in a coma for one week and 2.3 days when McCoy orders Spock to report to sick bay.
“You’re distracted, Spock,” the doctor comments sharply, hovering with hyposprays and handheld scanners at the ready. “I know what we all went through was- was difficult-” he pauses briefly, but stumbles on. “I mean, we’ve all been affected. Sometimes, the psychological effects of- well, post-traumatic stress disorder, of course you’ve-”
“Heard of it, yes,” Spock interrupts. “I am familiar with the term. However, I do not believe there is any cause for concern in my case, on that front.”
McCoy studies him carefully, eyes sharp. “Maybe. But I’d like you in for a psych eval, just in case.”
“That will not be necessary,” Spock informs him. “I assure you that no amount of the threats you will inevitably issue will dissuade me. That being the case, for the sake of efficiency, may I return to my station now rather than after a half hour of arguing?”
There is a long silence, and McCoy shakes his head. “He’s your best friend, Spock. Now either you’re a damn machine, and as cold and unfeeling as I always accused you of being, or you’re purposely hiding any symptoms of trauma.”
“An interesting analysis.”
“Well, by God, I don’t know which it is, because I sure as hell can’t tell what goes on in that Vulcan mind of yours. Return to your station, Mr. Spock. And come back-” McCoy turns and begins aggressively organizing some materials which Spock cannot see. He spits the rest of the sentence over his shoulder. “-when you’ve decided to talk about your feelings like a normal person.”
“I am not a normal person,” Spock informs him, and exits.
-
Spock is not a normal person; he is a carbon-based mess of mismatched DNA codes, couplings on the double helix absurdly manipulated and coerced into some semblance of normalcy that nature did not, in fact, intend to have exist.
This is all accurate, and the fact that there are no others quite like him has been known to him for a long period of time.
Despite that, this is the first time he has felt so completely alone.
-
“You’re neglecting your duties.”
“There are other people capable of commanding in my absence,” Spock replies, moving a rook on the holo projection. “Just as I am capable of commanding in his.”
“Capable, sure,” McCoy says, and looks at Spock almost pityingly- an unfamiliar expression on his face, and not one that Spock enjoys having directed towards him. “But probably not equal to the job. You know that’s true, same as I do.”
“By that logic, you imply that I am capable of commanding in Captain Kirk’s absence, but am not truly equal to the task,” Spock says, watching the computer move a bishop. “As a result, I am not sure whether to treat that remark as a compliment or as a disguised insult.”
“Fuck, Spock,” McCoy says, sounding disgusted.
Spock raises an eyebrow, face kept carefully blank, and turns back to his game.
“What do you do, anyway?” the doctor asks, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on an empty bed, one ankle crossed over the other. He seems unlikely to leave, or to drop the subject, which is unfortunate. “You just- sit by his damn bed, and talk to him, and play 3D Chess against the computer, for hours. I’ve got to say, I can’t see the point.”
“There have been studies,” Spock says carefully, “suggesting that the results of speaking to a comatose individual may be highly beneficial.”
“Sure, there are studies,” Bones says skeptically. “Don’t bullshit me. The evidence for that isn’t strong, and I know you don’t actually believe this will help.”
“Vulcans cannot lie.” Spock’s voice is mild, and he is careful not to betray himself.
McCoy huffs a short, dismissive laugh.
“Nevertheless,” Spock continues, “many humans believe their.. voices can be heard, perhaps recognized, when they speak to a coma patient.”
“You don’t believe it.”
“No.”
“Then you still haven’t answered my question. Why?”
“This is a matter of human emotion,” Spock says, carefully looking at the projection and pretending to contemplate his next move. “I am simply trying to follow standard protocols.”
“My God, man,” Bones says, staring at him, “are you in love with him?”
There is a brief silence.
“Insufficient data,” Spock replies, and leaves sick bay in a hurry.
-
He realizes only later that he left the holo running, and that his king is locked in check indefinitely.
-
Spock does not cut back his time spent in sick bay. McCoy gives him regularly scheduled disapproving glares alternating with curious glances, all from afar; these looks have the intended effect of forcing Spock to consider their past conversations.
Yet despite extensive and in-depth consideration of the topic, 437 games of chess (he rarely wins- Spock’s playing style is too similar to the computer’s in its logic, and the games end in stalemate more often than not), and the oppressive push of time, he is no closer to an answer by the time Bones informs him that Jim should be awake in a week.
“I hope you’ve thought about what you’ll say,” he says, harshly and abruptly, then retreats to check on another patient and glare from afar. McCoy likes to give short comments like that, believing them to be succinct yet profound.
Spock has thought about it. The two warring halves of his mind are no closer to a consensus than when he began.
-
His conversations with Jim are one-sided, unvarying, and supremely comforting.
“On Vulcan,” Spock says, quietly, “the temperature was much higher than on your world. It was a comforting heat; although I can tolerate conditions elsewhere, I must confess that I missed it when I was at Starfleet. I miss it still, I suppose.
The deserts were... Earth has no such deserts, and I do not know how to describe them, as you will have no accurate scale of comparison. Perhaps if you imagine your oceans, but as land rather than water, paler and more silent, unmoving save the shimmer of heat. I suppose you have experienced that, when you have viewed objects through heated air. The refractive index-”
He tells Jim about his childhood, and about the educational system on Vulcan, his interview at the Vulcan Science Academy, his experiences at Starfleet. Sybok and his reforms. Sarek and Amanda. When he runs out of stories about his past, Spock delves into comparisons between Romulan and Vulcan syntax, physics, biochemistry, calculus, engineering, economics, topics Jim already knows (albeit in less detail) simply to fill the time.
He tells Jim things Vulcans are not supposed to discuss, things he would not tell even Jim, if he were conscious and processing this information. Spock explains pon farr, explains mind-melds. He tells Jim about the result of mental bonds: how two people can feel each other’s presence and hear one another’s thoughts, across galaxies, parsecs away, nebulae and asteroids between them.
Spock learns the curve of the line of Jim’s jaw. He tells Jim everything he has, save one topic, which he avoids deliberately. He observes Jim lying motionless and listens to the steady beep of the monitors, watches the trendline of his heart, and wonders at how someone so full of an urgent vitality could become so very still.
-
Spock, upon receiving the communication, delays for nearly forty minutes before reporting to sick bay. It seems to be an appropriate amount of time; when he arrives, McCoy is just leaving, slapping Jim on the back with an expression of profound gratitude and relief.
Jim looks towards him, eyes bright, grinning. “I hear you played chess in here a lot while I was out.” He laughs as Spock sits down, nodding an affirmative. “I looked at some of the playthroughs. Your moves are shit.”
There is a brief silence.
He reaches for Jim’s hand, hesitant but determined- an inexorable force drawing him in despite his own efforts, the basic laws of attraction, as space-time warps and bends around Jim Kirk and Spock follows its curvature helplessly.
“Captain,” he says.
“Spock,” Jim says, voice faint and slightly puzzled and just perhaps, tinged with hope-
“Jim,” he says, and Kirk smiles.